Grey.

In a world that pleads for black or white,

I drift somewhere in between.

Never dark enough to truly die,

never light enough to be seen.

I try a thousand little things,

never succeed in one.

A jack of all trades, perhaps,

but master of none.

I dance, and then I stumble.

I sing, then my voice cracks.

I play, but my fingers falter midway.

I try, yet I fall short every single day.

I watch the people around me burn with purpose,

turn their passions into flame.

Besides them I stand and warm my hands,

pretending I feel the same.

In the night, I tell myself, balance is beauty,

And the middle is another kind of peace.

There’s no need to choose between sides,

You can just stay there and breathe.

After all, the quote is “Jack of all trades, master of none, but oftentimes better than the master of one.”

Yet I keep hoping, when I wake the next day,

That I’ll finally belong

to a place, a person, 

a moment or a song.

But time doesn’t stop, days blur into one another,

and I stand unchanged.

Not enough to love,

not enough to hate,

enough to remain a shadow

waiting in the grey.